I Write This By Firelight
by Antigone2283
Summary: On her way to Ostagar, the Elven mage PC refelcts on the day she was taken from her home and brought to the Circle Tower, and where that day has lead her. Spoilers: Mage Origin


**I Write This By Firelight**

I don't know where I'm from. I was too young to care about such things, when I was taken away, and I'm not sure anybody else cared to keep track of it. Oh, I suppose there'd have to be records of it somewhere, with the First Enchanter or possibly the Chantry – something they'd keep to use against me if I ever went apostate. But I never bothered to ask. Correspondence with the family you've left behind is prohibited, and with no realistic chance at ever returning…what's the point in knowing? It _was_ an alienage, somewhere with snow in winter and sweltering heat in summer. I remember very little of it; I remember very little of the people in my life, even my mother. My father was…not present. There were a lot of men in my mother's life – possibly she was a prostitute. Possibly she didn't know who my father was. I had no brothers and sisters, which was unusual for the families of our building.

I was 5 years old when they came for me. It was my mother who turned me in, I think. I don't know how she knew; don't know what I did wrong – what was _different_ about me. I was behind our building; there was a dirt courtyard that we would play in. We would use mud and sticks to build little forest cities, and play out the adventures of our lost ancestors. I can't even remember the faces of my friends, now. They were there, when it happened. The only way in or out of the courtyard was a door that led inside to the halls of our apartment building, and this is where they emerged. I don't remember how many Templars there were. I thought they were monsters, demons. They had on their full armor, and all but one wore visored helms. They were men, I mean _human_ men, of course, and so tall! I was too small to even see their eyes, and so it looked like they had nothing but yawning blackness behind their helms. They had swords and shields on their back – as if they were on the hunt for a terrible malificar, and not a frightened elf child! We couldn't get past them, or at least, none of us tried. We had never seen such a sight.

They didn't say a world. The one without the helm came towards us, staring at us, looking each of us over – looking for me, of course. And he knew me from the crowd. I was huddled there like the rest of them, but he knew me. I can't recall what was in his expression, whether there was compassion there, or hatred, or maybe boredom, indifference…all I remember was being _so afraid!_ He knelt, and said, "Come, child…" and held out his hand. I shook my head. He told the other children to go back to their homes, and they bolted. I tried to bolt, too. I got past him; I was small and quick, and he was burdened by all of that heavy steel. But he caught me from behind – grabbed me around my waist. I think I was screaming. I remember there was screaming. I was kicking and thrashing, but he held me against him, effortlessly – I remember later, much later, my hands being quite bruised. He didn't try to stop me – just let me wear myself out until all I could do was sob and gasp for breath. And then my mother was there…

She was crying, tears running down her face. She pushed past the other Templars and came to me. And then she said, "Go with them, my love. This is a gift from the Maker! I have found a way out for you!" When I realized she meant to let them take me, I started to beg. I pleaded with her. I promised to always do as she asked, to do _more _than she asked. I said I was sorry, over and over, though I didn't know what I'd done. She just started crying harder, and saying "_Abelas, abelas. _I am sorry, I am sorry."

And then she left. She turned around, and rushed past the Templars, and right back through the door. And I lost it. I _know _I screamed then, as loud as I could, and the man holding me flinched, just a little, and I felt it. He had one arm wrapped across my chest – he wasn't wearing gloves. I bit him, hard, and tasted his blood. He yelled and tried to pull his hand free – not much, but enough that I was able to slip through his arms. I ran for the door, throwing myself past the legs of the other Templars. I think I made it _just_ inside. Beyond that, I remember nothing. I suppose it was one of the Templar magics, for when I awakened, I had no injuries but those I had inflicted by beating myself against plate mail. Even now, I don't know what they did. They woke me up for the boat-crossing, to the Tower. I didn't fight, after that. I didn't know where I was, or where home was. And my mother, seemingly, didn't want me. What was there to fight for?

Other elves at the Circle Tower have told me how in awe they were when they first arrived. I hated it instantly. There was nothing elvish about it. Everything was…human. So very, very human. The Templars were everywhere, and I hated them, too, even after I learned that they were not, in fact demons, but "men in big metal suits." As if that was any better! They don't tell you that the Templars are there to kill you until you're older. At first, I believed that my mother had sold me into slavery. Magi, magic – those words meant nothing to me. I thought they were all a bit daft when they told me that I'd been brought there because I could do dangerous things, and that I must learn to control my abilities. I kept waiting for them to realize that I was just a stupid little elvish girl. I didn't have any special skills! I certainly wasn't dangerous! I tried to explain this more than once, tried to convince them that my mother was angry because I never cleaned the ashes from the fire like I was supposed to, that she had probably called them to scare me, but that she had never meant for them to take me away like this. That she was missing me, and I needed to go home. I hated them for the way they would give me these pitying stares, and pat me on the head.

I suppose I should have appreciated that for the first time in my life, I had a proper bed, clean clothes, and hot food 3 times a day. I didn't. The clothes were uncomfortable, the food wasn't elvish, and I slept _under_ my bed for weeks, until they threatened to _force_ me to sleep in a bed. The only thing that I _did_ appreciate was that they taught me how to read and write. Not even my mother could do that! I kept imagining how impressed all my friends would be when I got home! I practiced those skills for hours, and soon my abilities were on par with any of the human noble children…which they hated. There isn't as much racial tension at the Tower as there is in the outside world, but it exists. I'd never been around humans much before, but I'd been raised to spite them for all the wrongs they had committed against "my people." They, in turn, had been raised to see elves as idiot, animalistic criminals. I had never faced these kinds of slurs before, not directly. I did know an insult when I heard one, however, and I was not as inclined as some of my elven brethren to turn the other cheek. Many of my fellow elves had been born to an environment where humans and elves interacted regularly, and they had learned to be subservient and meek, lest they face punishment at the hands of their human masters. Growing up in the alienage, I had been taught pride in elven heritage, and there had always been a strong undercurrent of independence and rebellion. Even at the tender age of 5, I brought this with me to the Circle Tower.

When lessons in magic began, I did not have the fear and shame that some of the other apprentices, both elven and human, had to overcome. Surely fear of magic had existed in the alienage, but I had never had a reason to become acquainted with it. I approached our lessons with fascination and determination, fearlessly. I knew intellectually what I was _supposed_ to fear, but I didn't _feel_ it.

I excelled. I took great pride in my abilities. I took great pride in surpassing my human classmates. Not to say that I did not also have human friends, for surely I did. Jowan had been one of my first friends; he had latched onto me right away, I'm not really certain why. It had annoyed me a great deal at first, but gradually he had become a source of comfort and belonging in my life. We were never more than friends – it was just never like that. He was older than me, but I treated him like a little brother: I think he liked to be bossed around, a little bit, and I liked to boss him around. Those last weeks at the Tower…I should have noticed something was wrong, something had changed. I was too caught up in my own studies, in my own preparations. Everyone had been speculating that my Harrowing would come soon. I'd assumed the changes in his personality were due to insecurity over that, the fact that it seemed I would be called to the test before he would. Also, he'd spoken more and more frequently about a girl he'd met, whom he refused to name. Conducting a romantic affair under the watchful gaze of the Templars and instructors was never easy: his distraction could easily have been explained thus. I don't even know where he got the information on blood magic, or how long he'd been studying it. Jowan wasn't the sort to take initiative in much. I wonder if Lily knew him well enough to know that about him. When the two of them had approached me in the chapel, I knew the plan was insanity. I also knew what it was costing Jowan to take such a chance, to make such a leap! I was…proud of him! When we destroyed his phylactery in the basement, I had felt fear and exhilaration for him, but also jealousy. I would have destroyed my own, if it had been there. I had faced the demon in the Harrowing, and won - what right did they have to imprison me still? Had I not proved myself?

I thought we were all dead, when we got to the top of the stairs only to be greeted by Gregoir and his killing squad. I had decided, in that moment, that I would rather be dead than Tranquil. I was…disappointed, but not afraid, and that surprised me. All of my apprenticeship had been spent preparing for the Harrowing, and now that it was complete – what did I have? A life spent on the Chantry's leash? Not even the First Enchanter got the respect he deserved. What hope did I have for anything but a menial life?

I should have been horrified at what Jowan did, but more than anything, I was relieved that he had escaped. I believe what he said about wanting another life, away from magic, away from the Tower. We were to believe that blood magic was the path to evil, and yet Jowan spared the lives of even the Templars in his escape. Or perhaps he hadn't enough skill to take them out completely, I don't know. I want to believe he made the choice to spare them. If things had gone differently, I wonder if Duncan would have taken him along, too?

I don't know much of anything about the Grey Wardens. It doesn't matter. Whatever Duncan has to offer, it is better than the fate that surely awaited me if Gregoir had his way. The First Enchanter seems to respect this man, and I respect the First Enchanter. I don't think I concealed my relief when Duncan offered to take me with him. We are on our way to somewhere called "Ostagar." Ferelden is….amazing. I cannot believe I have been denied this my entire life! Duncan is in a hurry, but he has permitted me a few brief moments to marvel at this beautiful new world. Perhaps he knows that with each new breathtaking landmark, I believe a little more in his cause to destroy these "darkspawn."

I write this by firelight, and the embers are dying down. There is a river nearby, and the sound of it is more beautiful than any song that has ever been played by mortal hands. Tonight, I understand that this is what my mother wanted for me when she let the Templars take me away. Tonight, I love her again for the first time in 19 years.


End file.
